THE  FATHER 


HENRY  COPLEY   GREENE 


v/ 


r 


THE  FATHER 


PERSONS  OF  THE   PLAY 

JOHN  WATSON  A  Capitalist 

MRS.  WATSON  His  Wife 

RALPH  'Their  Son 

MAR  GAR  ETTA  Their  Daughter 

ELIZABETH   WOOD  A  Singer 

TIME  :  September,  1 8 96 

PLACE  :   Mr.   Watson  s  house  at  Mount  Desert 


THE 

PATH  ER 

&  Bratna 

By 
HENRY  COPLEY  GREENE 

Author  of 

"Pontius  Pilate,"  "Theophile"   "Plains  and 
Uplands  of  France,"  Etc.,  Etc. 


MCMV 
THE    MONADNOCK    PRESS 

NELSON,   N.   H. 


Copyright,  1904,  by  HENRY  COPLEY  GREENE 


ACT  I 


The  Parlor.  Doors  left  and  right.  In  the  center,  a  table;  on  it,  around  a  simple  but 
handsome  lamp,  magazines,  a  novel  or  two,  larger  books,  a  portfolio,  and  some  em- 
broidery. Near  the  embroidery,  two  chairs,  one  standing  askew.  Against  the  right- 
hand  wall  and  under  a  framed  photograph  of  Lincoln,  a  stiff  wooden  chair  ;  in  the  cor- 
ner further  back,  an  arm-chair.  To  the  left  of  it,  an  open  window,  and  nearer  the 
middle  a  glass  door,  through  both  of  which  the  darkening  afterglow  of  sunset  is  seen. 
Over  a  corner  fireplace  to  the  left,  on  the  brick  mantelpiece,  a  vase  of  white  roses  and  a 
photograph  of  Duse.  Between  them  a  cast  of  "La  Femme  Inconnue." 
MARGARETTA  turns  from  the  window  and  stands  glancing  quickly  back  and  forth  from 
the  roses  to  the  photographs,  takes  a  photograph  of  Elizabeth  from  the  portfolio  on  the 
table,  sets  it  beside  the  photograph  of  Duse,  and  seats  herself  in  the  rocking-chair. 


MRS.  WATSON 

Not  yet,  Margaretta. 

MARGARETTA 
Who,  Momps? 

MRS.  WATSON 
Your  father,  dear. 

MARGARETTA 

Oh!     Prob'ly  he  stopped  in  Bar  Har- 
bor—  for  grub,  you  know. 

MRS.  WATSON 
"Grub"? 

ii 


MARGARETTA 

Well,  feed,  Mommy  darling,  if  you  pre- 
fer it. 

MRS.  WATSON 

I  really  prefer  English. 

MARGARETTA 
But  Momps — 

MRS.  WATSON 
Listen ! 

7  herself     j^ 

MARGARETTA 

What  are  you  celebrating? 

MRS.  WATSON 

I  thought   I  heard  the  horn.       I  told 

Peters  to  blow  it  when   he  got   to  the 

turning,  so  that  I  could  be  at  the  door 

to  meet  your  father. 

Is  that  Elizabeth? 

of  the  photograph  on  the  table 

MARGARETTA 
Sure. 

MRS.  WATSON 

Why  not  have  kept  her  with  the  rest 

of  your  friends  ? 

MARGARETTA 

She  's  a  celebrity ;  anyhow,  she  's  going 
to  be.  And  then,  I  want  Pa  to  see  her  as 
soon  as  he  arrives.  So  there  she  is  —  in 
bis  room,  too,  in  case  he  goes  right  up. 
12 


MRS.  WATSON 

But  he  '11  see  her  herself. 

MARGARETTA 

Will  he  ?  She  's  liable,  you  know,  to 
take  most  as  long  coming  from  the  beach 
as  Dad  from  Idaho ! 

MRS.  WATSON 

She  does  delight  in  it. 

MARGARETTA 

It 's  perfect  fizz  for  her,  specially  when 

Ralph  's  along. 

MRS.  WATSON 

And  Ralph  is  *  along"  now? 

MARGARETTA 
Sure. 

MRS.  WATSON 

Margaretta,  do  you  realize  how  you  mur- 
der the  Queen's  English? 

MARGARETTA 

No  worse  than  Elizabeth. 

MRS.  WATSON 

That 's  hardly  true,  dear,  except  when 

she  makes  fun  of  you.       And  even   if 

it  were  true,  she  would  be  hardly  a  good 

model  for  you. 

Her  mother  could  not    give   her   your 

advantages;    and   in   the  last  years  she 

seems  to  have  lived  in  really  .  .  .  rather 


Putting  aside  the  embroidery 


After  a  pause 


With 


serious  mi 


ensity 


Lighting  the  lamp 


Bohemian  surroundings  .  .  .with  singular 
sweetness,  I  admit.  I  am  not  condemn- 
ing her.  She  's  wonderfully  kind  to 
you,  with  her  sunrise  walks  and  her  rid- 
ing and  singing ;  and  then  she  has  .  .  . 
well  .  .  .  the  sort  of  genius  that  trans- 
figures almost  impossible  remarks. 

MARGARETTA 
And  capers? 

MRS.  WATSON 

Yes,  actions,  too.  Yet,  some  of  them, 
even  lit  up  with  her  special  exquisite- 
ness,  I  could  hardly  bear  in  my  daughter. 

MARGARETTA 
Getting  up     Momps ! 

MRS.  WATSON 
Well,  dear. 

MARGARETTA 

You  wouldn  't  mind  'em,  would  you,  in 

your  daughter-/w-/tfw  ? 

MRS.  WATSON 

It  hasn't  come  to  that? 

MARGARETTA 

But  s'pose  it  had. 

MRS.  WATSON 

Ralph  would  have  told  me. 

MARGARETTA 

On   the  arm  of  her  mother's      Of  COUrSC,   dearest. 
chair  1. 


And  they  're  not  even  engaged;  at  least, 
when  they  went  out  they  were  n't.  I 
almost  hope  they  aren't.  They  both 
seemed  so  ecstatically  full  of  fears.  d pause 

Was  yours  like  that? 

MRS.  WATSON 

Your  father's  love  and  mine?    Yes,  dear, 

for  a  while. 

MARGARETTA 
"A  while"? 

MRS.  WATSON 

You  know  we  're  happy. 

MARGARETTA 

Um  !       I  do  know  you  're  good.      But 

sometimes,  sometimes,  you  know,  I  do 

long  to  see  you  both,  oh,  just  beautifully 

bad! 

MRS.  WATSON 

That 's  worse  than  .  .  .  Elizabeth. 

MARGARETTA  Looking  her  in  the  eyes 

How  you  hate  her! 

MRS.  WATSON 

No,  in  a  way  I  almost  love  her.  And 
yet — .  Margaretta,  do  you  think  she 
cares  for  Ralph? 

MARGARETTA 

It 's  as  plain  as  the  nose  on  your  dear 

sweet  exquisite  face ! 


Without  a  smile 


Half  to  herself 

Interrupting 
Kissing  her 

Disengaging  herself 

Elizabeth,  outside,  is  heard 
singing  Sieglinde's  part  of  the 
final  duet  in  Act  I  of  the 
"Walkure" 


Deprecatingly 

Mrs.  Watson  assents 

Elizabeth  stops  singing 


MRS.  WATSON 
And  if  it  is  ? 

MARGARETTA 

Dad  won't  object,  will  he? 

MRS.  WATSON 
His  letter  — 

MARGARETTA 

He  wrote?      Ton  wrote  about  her? 

Oh,  Mommy,  dear,  dear  Mommy! 

MRS.  WATSON 

Yes,    I   wrote,  and   I    tried  to  be  fair. 

But- 

MARGARETTA 

Sh-sh!  — 

Does  n't  that  convince  you  ? 

MRS.  WATSON 

Her  voice  is  beautiful;  but  the  whole 
subject — of  the  opera,  I  mean  —  makes 
me  shiver. 

MARGARETTA 

Hm.  The  brother  and  sister  business? 
Yes? 

But  then,  it 's  just  symbolic,  you  know. 
Love  and  Spring  and  all  that.   Listen. 
Momps,  dorit  trouble  him   with   your 
prejudices!      Don't!      Don't!     Think 
how  he  loves  her ! 
16 


MRS.  WATSON 
Am  I  prejudiced? 

Even  without  her  gift  it   would    be  a 
problem,  Margaretta ;  and  with  it,  can 
a  clash  be  avoided?    Think  of  the  con- 
ditions: Ralph  settled,  full  of  his  prob- 
lems,   absorbed    in   work — and   she,  a 
singer,  mixed  up  with  managers,  feted, 
excited,  elated  .  .  .     Why,  not  one  pair 
in  a  thousand — 
MARGARETTA 
They  're  one  in  ten  thousand! 
MRS.  WATSON 

Only  character — character  rooted  in  gen- 
erations of  strength — nothing  else  could 
carry  it  through.  Why,  even  your  father 
with  all  his  strength  could  hardly  — 
MARGARETTA 

Have  made  a  bang-up  success  of  it  ? 
P'raps  not!  But  Ralph 's  had  the  benefit 
of  fa's  bringing  up,  and  with  Elizabeth — ! 

MRS.  WATSON 

Yes.      Perhaps  —  I    hope   so — perhaps 

my  instincts  are  deceiving  me. 


ELIZABETH 

Margaretta  — ! 

I  beg  your  pardon,  Mrs.  Watson. 

were  talking  ? 


You 


Getting  up  slowly 


Comically  serious 


Without  a  smile 


joyously 


At  the  glass  door,  radiant 

A  bit  chilled  as  she  sees  Mrs. 
Watson 


Unconsciously 
Listening 

To  Airs.  Watson 
To  Elizabeth 

Under  her  breath 
Getting  up 

Suddenly  radiant 
A  moment's  hesitation 


MARGARETTA 

Yes,  of  Ralph  and  the  beastly  poisons  and 
acids  and  .  .  .  and  burners  and  scales  and 
reactions,  and  things  that  he  keeps  up 
there !  And  Momps  thinks  it  'd  be  better 
if  he  'd  loaf  summers.  I  do  n't,  do  you? 

ELIZABETH 

No-o  .  .  .  that  is, — yes!     Why, 

why  should  he  work  while  all  the  world's 

a  heaven  of  silver  and  crimson  and 

sea  music  ? 

MARGARETTA 

Do  you  s'pose  Dad  thinks  Idaho  's  like 

that  ? 

By  the  way,  dearest,  where  is  Ralph  ? 

ELIZABETH 

Ralph  ?     Oh,  star-gazing  somewhere. 

MARGARETTA 
Elizabeth  ! 

MRS.  WATSON 

Could  you  tell  me  a  little  more  exactly, 
Miss  Wood  ?  I  should  be  sorry  not  to 
have  him  back  when  his  father  comes. 

ELIZABETH 

Then,  then,  then,  Mr.  Watson  has  n't 
come  yet !    Oh,  I  am  glad.     I  do  so  want 
to  see  him,  as  soon  as  he  arrives. 
I  've  heard  so  much  of  him,  Mrs.  Wat- 
18 


son,  — carrying  the  flag  at  Cold  Harbor, 

when  he  was  only  a  boy  !  and  then  later, 

his  mines  and  the  school  for  singers! 

and  now, such  bravery  among  the  rioters! 

Is  that  he? 

MARGARETTA 

No;  it  can't  be.      Momps  said  Peters 

was  to  blow  the  horn  when  they  got  to 

the  turning.      Didn't  you,  Momps? 

MRS.  WATSON 

Peters  might  have  forgotten. 

MARGARETTA 

Peters  never  forgets. 

ELIZABETH 

But  perhaps  we  did  n't  hear  it. 

MARGARETTA 

Oh,  I  think  so. 

Biddies  all  off  on  a  bat,  Momps? 

ELIZABETH 

Or  perhaps  Mr.  Watson  told  Peters  to 

keep  still  so  that  he  could  surprise  you. 

MARGARETTA 

That 'sit! 

MRS.  WATSON 

That  might  be  it. 

MARGARETTA 

No:    I'll   go.  —  Dad,   Dad,  is   it   you? 

Dear  old  man! 

19 


Outside,   a  ring  at  the  front 


Sarcastically 

The  bell  rings  again 


Starting    toward    the    right- 
hand  door 

Also  turning 


Sitting  down  again  at  the  table 

Still  in  the  doorway 
In  the  hal^  outside 


Outside 


Margaretta,  returning,  begins 
to  open  the  telegram 


On  the  point   of  tossing  it  to 
her  mother 


ELIZABETH 
It  must  be  he. 

MARGARETTA 
In  the  doorway    I  should  say  not! 

MRS.  WATSON 
No,  it  is  n't  he. 

MARGARETTA 

Thought  you  were  Dad,  Charley. 
Telegram  ?    For  him  ?    Thanks.    Office 
be  open  for  an  answer? 

TELEGRAPH  BOY 
Outside    All  night,  Miss  Watson. 

MARGARETTA 
Good  night. 

TELEGRAPH  BOY 
Good  night. 

MRS.  WATSON 

Margaretta !   What  are  you  thinking  of? 

MARGARETTA 

That's    so;     it's    the    same    one    they 

'phoned  over,  two  hours  ago,  of  course. 

Cipher,  too. 

You  have  n  V  got  the  code  ?   Truly-ruly  ? 

So  help  you  .  .  .  Saint  Patrick  ? 

MRS.  WATSON 
Certainly  not. 
20 


MARGARETTA 
All  right,  then. 

ELIZABETH 

Well,   that  wasn't   Mr.  Watson.       But 

he  '11  be  here  soon,  I  suppose. 

MRS.  WATSON 

I  think  I  '11  take  this  to  his  room. 

Yes,  he  said  he  'd  be  here  some  time  this 

evening. 

ELIZABETH 
Margaretta. 
Oh,  Margaretta !  Margaretta 

MARGARETTA 
Why,  what  is  it? 

ELIZABETH 

Dearest. 

MARGARETTA 

Then  .  .  .  you  and  Ralph  ? 

ELIZABETH 
Ralph  and  I  ? 

MARGARETTA 
You  are  —  ? 

ELIZABETH 
Well? 

MARGARETTA 
Are  you? 

21 


Tossing  the  telegram  into  her 
lap 


Getting  up 
Absently 

She  goes  out  to  the  right 

Her  arms  about  her  and  her 
cheek  against  her  forehead 

Drawing    back    a    little,  she 
looks  at  her 

A pause 


Kissing  her  softly  and  slowly 


Holding  her    at  arms-length 
and  gazing  into  her  face 


ELIZABETH 
Dearest ! 

MARGARETTA 

Oh,  I  was  off  my  trolley !  when  you 
said  Ralph  was  "star-gazing  some- 
where." 

ELIZABETH 
Were  you,  dear? 

MARGARETTA 

Yes,  who  wouldn't  be?  And  then,  why 
did  n't  you  come  back  together,  arm  in 
arm,  you  know,  sort-er  walkin'-down- 
the-aisle- wise  ? 

ELIZABETH 

I  needed  to  be  alone. 

MARGARETTA 

I  do  n't  understand. 

ELIZABETH 
Do  n't  you? 

MARGARETTA 

No. 

ELIZABETH 

Well,  perhaps  you  can  't,  dear.  But  if 
all  your  grays  had  been  turned  golden, 
if  everything  that  was  gold  before  had 
grown  .  .  .  celestial;  if  your  little  body 
had  been  suddenly  set  quivering  with  a 
mystery  that  made  your  soul's  song  one 

22 


with    the    sea    and  stars  —  Margaretta, 
Margaretta,  then  you  would  understand.     A pau 

MARGARETTA 
Yes,  dear,  if. 

ELIZABETH 
Come. 


Seating  herself  near  the  table. 
Margaretta^  sitting  in  Eliza- 


against her  shoulder 


There,  there  —  your  soul's  still  such  a 
funny  little  chrysalis ;  but  it  soothes  me 
to  feel  it,  dear. 

MARGARETTA 
Really? 

ELIZABETH 

And  now  I'm  warm  again. 

MARGARETTA 

Did  Ma  frizzle  you? 

ELIZABETH 

No.  But  it  chilled  me  to  see  that  her 
soul,  you  know,  was  still  so  much  more 
frightened  than  she  was  trying  not  to  be. 

MARGARETTA 

Elizabeth,  can  you  pry  into  my  insides 

like  that? 


Sitting  up,  wide-eyed 


ELIZABETH 

Sometimes. 

The  way  she  felt  scares  me  a  little  even 

now.      I 'm  afraid  she  thinks — .     Tell 

me,  what  does  she  think  of  me? 


A  pause 


Getting  up. 


Leaning  forward^  intensely 


Re-entering,  right 


Rising 


Turning  toward  the  door 


Trying  to    bridge   the   chasm 
between  them 


MARGARETTA 

Do  you  really  want  to  know? 

ELIZABETH 
Yes! 

MARGARETTA 
Really? 

ELIZABETH 
Yes,  I  say. 

MRS.  WATSON 

I  forget,  did  you  tell  me  where  to  look 

for  him,  Miss  Wood? 

ELIZABETH 

Who,  Mrs.  Watson? 

MRS.  WATSON 
My  son. 

ELIZABETH 

No.    No,  I  can't  have.     I  do  n't  know. 

We  took  different  roads,  you  see. 

MRS.  WATSON 
Really? 
Very  well. 

ELIZABETH 

Won't  you   wait  here  for  him?    He's 

surely  on  his  way. 

MRS.  WATSON 

I'm  afraid  I  should  disturb  you  two. 
24 


MARGARETTA 

Not  in  the  least,  Mommy. 

Will  she,  dear? 

ELIZABETH 

Do  stay,  Mrs.  Watson. 

MARGARETTA 

As  I  was  just  going  to  say,  Elizabeth, 

Mommy  thinks  .  .  . 

that  you're  charming. 

ELIZABETH 
Really? 

MARGARETTA 

Yes.     And  .  .  .  and  exquisite. 

ELIZABETH 
"  Truly-ruly  ? " 

MARGARETTA 

And  . . .  and  ...  a  genius! 

ELIZABETH 

Really? 

MRS.  WATSON 

Yes. 

MARGARETTA 

But  then  she  thinks  you  're  — 

ELIZABETH 
Well? 

MARGARETTA 
Unconventional! 


Supremely 
To  Elizabeth 

Mrs.  If^atson  sits  dtrwn  to  her 
embroidery 


With   roguish  sternness 
Relenting 


With  gentle  humor 
A  pause 


MRS.  WATSON 
Margaretta ! 

ELIZABETH 

With   a   quizzically    birdlike    Um  ? 

MARGARETTA 
And— 

ELIZABETH 
And  what,  dear? 

MARGARETTA 
Freakish ! 

MRS.  WATSON 
My  child! 

MARGARETTA 
Maliciously    Fresh ! 

MRS.  WATSON 

Be  still,  Margaretta! 

MARGARETTA 
Light! 

ELIZABETH 

Standing  up,  reproachfully     On  ! 

MARGARETTA 
As  Mrs.  Watson  aho  gets  up   And  in  comparison  with  Ralph  — 

Pompously   who     is     "rooted     in    generations    of 
strength  "  —  rather  weak. 

ELIZABETH 
Perhaps  so  ...  yes  .  .  . 
26 


MRS.  WATSON 

Margaretta,  you  're  simply  unpardonable. 
Miss  Wood,  if  you  will  come  to  me  a 
little  later,  I  will  explain  what  Marga- 
retta has  so  misstated. 

ELIZABETH 

You  are  very  kind,  Mrs.  Watson. 

MARGARETTA 

"Misstated  ? "    Understated  —  not  stated 

at  all!      Great  Gosh!   with  her  whims 

and  her  notions  about  being  "  rooted  in 

generations  of  strength,"  and  then  her 

letters  to  Dad,  why  we've  just  got  to  be 

candid.    Anyhow  I  shall  be,  and  if  you 

are  n't,  why  then  you  are  weak  —  very. 

Elizabeth. 

Elizabeth ! 

Elizabeth ! 

Dearest.      Forgive  me. 

I  didn't  mean  to  hurt. 

ELIZABETH 

There's  nothing  to  forgive,  dear;  it's 

true,  I  am  weak. 

MARGARETTA 

But  —  but  you  won  'f  be,  dear  ? 

ELIZABETH 

No,  I  hope  not,  I  hope  not. 


As  Elizabeth  walks  noiselessly 
away 


'Turning 

Mrs.  IV at  son  goes  out  to   the 
right 

After  an  astonished  pause 


Seeing  Elizabeth  quiver 

No  answer 

Silence 

Her  arms  about  her 

Kneeling 


Raising     Margaretta 's    face 

with   her    right    hand,  while 

with  the  left  she  smooths  back 

the  hair 

Ralph  appears  at  the  French 

window 

Her  eves  fix  id  on  Ralph 


Getting  up  and  dodging  back 
as  Ralph  enters  and  takes  both 
of  Elizabeth's  hands 


Facing  her 


After  a    disconcerted  instant, 
embracing  and  embraced 
Her  hand  on  Ralph's  shoulders 


Kissing  her 
To  Elizabeth 


Forcing  herself  to  chase  her 
with  hand-clappings 

Margaretta  goes  out  right, 
leaving  the  door  ajar 

Elizabeth,  returning  and  pass- 
ing Ralph  slowly,  sinks  into 
Mrs.  Watson's  chair 


RALPH 

May  I  come  in? 

ELIZABETH 
May  you? 

MARGARETTA 

"  Sweet  dreams,  Margaretta  "  ? 

ELIZABETH 

You  '11    tell   your    mother    he 's    back, 

won't  you,  and  then  —  to  bed,  dear  ? 

MARGARETTA 

Yes,  but  I  'm  to  come  for  you  at  sunrise? 

ELIZABETH 
"  Sure !  " 

MARGARETTA 
Good  night. 

Dear  old  man,  good  night. 

RALPH 
Sleep  tight. 

MARGARETTA 
One  more  ? 

ELIZABETH 
Yes,  and  now — 
Scoo-oo-oo-oo-oot ! 


28 


RALPH 

Elizabeth !  You  have  n't  been  doubting 
yourself? 

Of  course  not.  You  are  n't  so  cow- 
ardly. And  /  never  used  to  be  a  coward. 
I  was  n't  even  much  afraid  of  not  win- 
ning you  — 

ELIZABETH  Archly 

Ralph! 

RALPH 

—  But  coming  back,  alone  under  the 
stars,  I  met  the  fear  of  losing  you.  And  I 
found  that  only  years  of  life  with  you 
could  lift  me  high  enough  to  face  it. 

ELIZABETH 

I  'm  glad  you  think  I  help  you. 

And  you  know  I'm  even  rather  glad     *«>»«>" 

1  i  '  i  -s       T-  »       i  embroidery 

that  you  were  morbid  ?     /  can  t  always 

cage  my  black-winged  thoughts  Looking  up. 

and  free  the  nightingales. 

RALPH 

Something  has  been  troubling  you. 

ELIZABETH 

Yes,  I  was  afraid,  I'm  still  afraid,  that 

you're  building  on  illusions. 

RALPH 
Nonsense ! 

29 


and  down 


With  a  flash  of  gay  triumph 


ELIZABETH 

No,  Ralph.  You're  even  and  wise  and 
strong,  dear,  so  you  do  n't  see  that  I'm 
impulsive,  freakish,  weak. 

RALPH 

But  Elizabeth  — 

ELIZABETH 

Another   thing:   I'm  afraid  that    even 

you  can't  change  me  very  fast. 

RALPH 

Jumping  up,  and  walking  up     Change  you !    Change  you  !    Tou,  Eliza- 
beth !    I  would  n't  have  you  different  — 

ELIZABETH 

Come,  do  n't  protest  too  much.    It  is  n't 

"  moderate." 

RALPH 

Great  Heaven .  .  . ! 

ELIZABETH 

S-s-sh !      Do  n't  swear,  dear.      It  is  n't 

"  conventional." 

RALPH 

And  suppose  it  is  n'f. 

MRS.  WATSON 
Margaretta ! 

RALPH 

Elizabeth  !  You  look  as  if  the  uni- 
verse were  coining  to  an  end. 

30 


Roguishly 


Outside 


em, 


your 


ELIZABETH 

She  is  wise  .  .  .  terribly  .  .  . 

MARGARETTA 

Mummy  !      If  you    interrupt 

blood  be  on  your  head! 

That's    a  kind,   considerate    Mummy. 

Good  night. 

ELIZABETH 

She  's  gone  ! 

RALPH 

I  see  it  now.    What   you  were  saying 

about  being    freakish     and   weak,    my 

mother  didn't  say   to   you,   of  course. 

But  she  did  say  it? 

ELIZABETH 
Yes. 

RALPH 

Try  as  she  will,  dear,  I  'm  afraid  she'  11 
never  understand  you.  But  when  she's 
once  accepted  you  — 

ELIZABETH 

If  she  accepts  me  ! 

RALPH 

She    will.      And  when    she   does,  will 

you  — 

ELIZABETH 

Do  all  I  can  to  understand  her  ?  and  see 

things 

31 


Half  to  herself 

Outside 

A  pause 

T'he  door  shuts 

In  quiet  delight 

Stalking  to  the  dtor  and  back 
again 


After  another  turn 


Getting  up 


With  a  little  shiver  as  she  does  ? .  .  .  for  your  sake  ?  That  is 
what  you  were  going  to  say,  is  n't  it  ? 
Yes,  I  will.  But  now,  I  must  tell  you 
why,  in  all  these  minutes  that  ought  to 
have  been  radiant,  I  've  been  so  little 
.  .  .  the  girl  you  love. 

RALPH 

Moods  can't  change  you,  dear. 

ELIZABETH 

Do  you  know  what  I  really  am  ?  I  'm 
not  "  rooted,"  like  you,  "  in  generations 
of  strength."  My  weakness  is  rooted 
in  weakness.  My  mother — 

RALPH 

I  know,  I  know. 

ELIZABETH 

No,  not  what  I  know;  that  her  joy 
must  once  have  been  too  passionately 
exquisite  for  this  world,  and  her  sorrow 
so  terrible  that  sometimes,  even  in  the 
later  years,  I  've  seen  her  shaken  to  the 
depths  with  great  gusts  of  it. 

RALPH 

That  I  didn't  know;  even  now  I  do  n't 

quite  understand. 

ELIZABETH 
Nor  I. 

A  silence    But  it  shows  me  how  deep  my  wildness 
32 


and  my  weakness  lie.  . .  .      Ralph,  ought 
you,  with  all  the  great  things  that  de- 
pend  on  you,   ought   you   to    hamper 
yourself  with  me  ? 
RALPH 

I  'm  nothing  without  you. 

ELIZABETH  wtth  wisffui  gayety 

Nonsense,    nonsense. 
RALPH 

No,   dearest,    sense.      Since   you  've    lit 
up  my  world  for  me,  problems  that  used 
to  be  dark  and  shapeless  have  glimmered 
into  crystals.      I  begin    to  see  almost   a 
new  universe. 
ELIZABETH 
Because  of  me,  Ralph  ? 
RALPH 

Because  of  you. 
ELIZABETH 
Then  you  '11  take  me,  still  ? 

RALPH 

Take  you  ? 

ELIZABETH 

Just  as  I  am?     Whatever  I  am? 

RALPH  Kissing  her 

Yes  !     Yes ! 

ELIZABETH 

You  may  have  to  do  it  pretty  soon,  then ! 

33 


RALPH 

Have  to  ? 

ELIZABETH 

I  may  make  you  .  .  .  make  off  with  me 

.  .  .  to-morrow. 

RALPH 

Half  delighted,  half increduloui     Elizabeth  ! 

ELIZABETH 

Yes.    If  your  father 's  going  to  analyze 
and  dissect  me,  if  he  begins,  even  con- 
siderately, to  sort  and  pigeon-hole  my 
traits  — 
RALPH 

That 's  not  his  way.  He 's  whole- 
hearted, straight  -  forward,  impulsive, 
with  all  his  firmness  ! 

ELIZABETH 

But  your  mother  's  been  writing. 

RALPH 

Not  to  prejudice  him ! 

ELIZABETH 

But  if  she^j-by  mistake,  if  for  any  rea- 
son he 's  cold,  you  won  't  wait,  will  you, 
to  see  my  soul  sliced  and  put  on  a  slide 
and  stared  at  through  a  microscope  ? 

RALPH 

Do    you  realize  what  men   would  say 

if  I  "  made  off  with  you  "? 

34 


ELIZABETH 

I   know,  I   know,  just  what  they  have 

said,  that  you  're  so  rich  and  I,  so  poor. 

I  used  to  mind  that.    But  now,  I'm  glad 

you   can    have    the  fun   of  giving   me 

things. 

RALPH 

So  am  I,  very.      But  that  is  n't  it.      The 

things  they'd  say   now,  dearest,  would 

seem  almost  to  lower  our  love. 

ELIZABETH 

That  can  V  be  lowered. 

RALPH 

Not  for  us — 

ELIZABETH 

Hark  !      He  's  coming.     And  that  horn 

of  his  would  sound  like   the  last  trump 

to  me  if  we  couldn't .  .  .just  ride  away. 

It  is  n't  that  I  mind  the  pain,  Ralph  — 

at  least  I  think  not  —  but  the  pettiness, 

the  ugliness. 

RALPH 

Do  n't  think  you  must  plead  with  me. 

If  it  is  n't  all  gladness,  if  there 's  a  word 

of  questioning  — 

ELIZABETH 

We  '11    ride  off   and    away  ?  with    the 

breath  of  sunrise  in  our  faces  and  the  dew 

on  the  grass  and  the  branches  ? 

35 


A  coach  horn  is  heard 


It  sounds  again,  nearer 


Seeing  her  sensitiveness 


Indistinct  voices  are  heard  out- 
side to  the  right 


Impulsively 

Turning   toward  the  door   to 
the  left,  playfully 


Going  out 


RALPH 

And  the  sea  booming  on  the  rocks. 

ELIZABETH 

And  then,  after  a  day  all  joy    in  the 

mountains,  when  we  're  married,  you  and 

I,  shall  we  come   back  and   confound 

them? 

RALPH 
Yes! 

ELIZABETH 
He  's  here  ! 
RALPH 
That's  his  voice. 

ELIZABETH 

No,  I  do  n't  want  to  see  him  yet. 

Good  night !    Good-bye !    Say  I  went  to 

bed    exhausted,   hours    and    hours  and 

hours  ago.    But  come  and  tell  me  what 

he  says.    And  if  he  does  n't  just  hug  the 

idea  of  me, 

then  at  sunrise — ? ! 

RALPH 

We'll  have  our  gallop. 


CURTAIN 


ACT  II 


Mr.  Watson's  room.  A  window  to  the  right;  near  it,  a  closet  door.  To  the  left,  back, 
another  door  ;  on  the  left,  forward,  a  third.  In  the  center  of  the  room,  a  large  plain 
table  with  a  green-shaded  student  lamp,  an  inkstand,  a  pile  of  letters  and  telegrams,  a 
few  books,  a  photograph  of  Elizabeth.  To  the  left  of  the  table,  a  leather-covered  arm- 
chair ;  to  the  right,  a  lighter  chair  of  wood;  against  the  wall,  right,  a  third  chair.  In 
the  whole  gray  room,  no  ornaments,  only  a  portrait  of  Airs.  Watson  hanging  to  the  left, 
and  over  the  door  at  the  back,  two  flags. 


MRS.  WATSON 

Are  you  sure  you  won't  have  supper? 

MR.  WATSON 

Quite,   thank   you.      I    stopped  at    the 

Commodore's,  you   see;    a    miraculous 

dinner, souffles, jellies,  champagne.  After 

that,  anything  else  would  be  a  sacrilege ! 

Yes  ...     Yes  ... 

Where's  Ralph? 

MRS.  WATSON 

There 's  another,  John,  in  cipher.  I 
know,  because  they  telephoned  it  first, 
as  usual. 

MR.  WATSON 

After  me  again,  those  brokers  ? 

"In  view  of  rumors,  mining  stocks  fall. 

Do   I   wish   to  sell   out   my  interest?" 

39 


Entering,  left  front,  and 
turning  as  Mr.  Watson,  in  a 
light  woolen  traveling  suit, 
follows  her  into  the  room 


Looking  over  the  telegrams 
Putting  them  down 

Pointing  to  the  table 


Opening  the  telegrams 
Translating    by    means    of  a 
code-book  which  he  takes  from 
his  pocket 


Tossing  aside  telegram  and  book 


Smiling 
Ironically 

Grave 
A  pause 


Laughing 


Winding  his  watch  and  laying 
it  on  the  table 


Nonsense! . .  .  "They  await  my  reply"? 
They  can  wait.  —  Where  's  Ralph, 
Mabel? 

MRS.  WATSON 

I  left   him  with  this  friend  of  Marga- 

retta's. 

MR.  WATSON 

Margaretta's?     And  Margaretta ?    She's 

with  them  ? 

MRS.  WATSON 

No,  in  bed. 

She  left  word,  though,  twice,  that  you 

were  to  kiss  her  in  her  sleep.     Her  soul, 

she  "guessed,"  would   "know    it    and 

hug  you." 

MR.  WATSON 

How  like  her;  the  "hug,"  I  mean.   The 

"soul"  sounds  rather  .  .  .  different. 

MRS.  WATSON 

She  has  been  changing. 

MR.  WATSON 

Not  losing  her  drollery? 

MRS.  WATSON 

No.     If  anything,  that 's  grown  on  her. 

MR.  WATSON 

Good!     Good!     But,  Mabel, 
I  've  been   thinking   about  her  a  good 
deal  in  crossing  the  plains. 
40 


MRS.  WATSON 

And  what  came  of  it  ? 

MR.  WATSON 

Well,  in  the  end  .  .  . 

in  the  end  it  seemed  to  me  that  if  you 

or  I  should  die,  Mabel,  or  if  any  great 

shock  should  come  to  her,  she  'd  grow 

up  in  a  twinkling. 

MRS.  WATSON 
She  is  growing  up. 

MR.  WATSON 

You  don't  mean  she's  got  sentimental? 

MRS.  WATSON 

Far  from  it.  But  this  extraordinary 
friend  of  hers  seems  to  have  opened  her 
eyes  almost  startlingly  on  life. 

MR.  WATSON 

Urn. 

I    don't    wonder.       Even    your    rather 

guarded  letters  gave  me  an  impression  of 

great  charm. 

Has  Ralph  been  here  all  along? 

MRS.  WATSON 

Yes,  breaking  promise  after  promise  to 

pay  visits,  on  the  Shore  and  in  the  Adi- 

rondacks. 

MR.  WATSON 

Will  she  take  him? 


Seating  herself  at  the  table 


He  takes  off  his  coat  and  waist- 
coat, bangs  them  in  the  closet, 
puts  on  his  smoking  jacket  and 
comes  back 


Lighting  a  cigar 


A  pause 


Smiling 


MRS.  WATSON 

Without  a  smile    From  what  Margaretta  says,  I  'm  afraid 
she  will,  unless  you  interfere. 

MR.  WATSON 

Why,   you   wrote    she   was  delightful, 

almost  a  genius  — 

MRS.  WATSON 
Yes;  but  weak! 

MR.  WATSON 

Does  Ralph  need  a  Hercules? 

MRS.  WATSON 

—  And  they're>both  so  in  the  clouds! 

MR.  WATSON 

Such  a  rare  symptom! 

MRS.  WATSON 

Don't  be  sarcastic,  John ;  I  'm  troubled, 
really. 

He  lays  down  his  dgar  My  reasons  sound  paltry,  I  know,  and 
yet  .  .  .  their  love  is  such  a  tissue  of 
dreams  and  folly  and  song  that  I  can't 
imagine  it  surviving  the  strains  of  life. 

MR.  WATSON 

Need  there  be  strains  ?    There 's  money 
enough.     As  for  other  things  .  .  . 

He  falls  silent,  a  look  of  pain    she  won't  have  to  suffer  as  you  had  to 
suffer  ...      He  won't  have  to  suffer  as  I 
had  to  suffer  in  telling  .  .  .  you  before 
we  were  married — 
42 


MRS.  WATSON 
John! 

MR.  WATSON 

As  you  wish,  Mabel. 

You  re  right. 

That 's  past.     And  now,   at  this   very 

moment,  perhaps,   Ralph   and   she  are 

planning  out  their  life. 

Would  you  have  me  thwart  them? 

MRS.  WATSON 
Only  for  their  sake. 

MR.  WATSON 

For  their  sake? 

It  turned   out    useless,  you   know,   my 

taking  this  with  me.     There  was  n't  a 

miner  in  Idaho  that  could  n't  have  "got 

the  drop  on  me."     Won't  they  be  a  good 

deal  like  that? 

MRS.  WATSON 

You  brought  your  men  to  their  senses. 

MR.  WATSON 

Mabel,  in  such  a  love  as  Ralph's  must 

be,   there  's  something  that   I  for   one 

hate  to  interfere  with. 

In  spite  of  its  folly,  if  there  is  folly  in 

it,  it  may  lift  a  man  higher  than  he  'd 

climb  without  it. 

43 


Gently,  as  she  leans  across  the 
table 

Taking  her  hand  <•/  moment 
Get  tin?  up 
A  pause 


After  a  turn  across  the  room 


'Taking  a  revolver  frotn  bis 
hip-pocket  and  fingering  it 
as  be  ivalks  up  and  down 


A  pausr, 
revolver 


He  puts  down  the 


Anotht 


pause 


MRS.  WATSON 
Yes,  John. 
MR.  WATSON 

And  still  you  'd  break  this  off? 
MRS.  WATSON 

Puzzled     Yes,  almost;  yes,  I  'would. 
MR.  WATSON 

You,  who've  always  pleaded  for  his  in- 
dependence, and  held  me  back — held 
me  back  rightly — when  I  've  wished  to 
oppose  him  ? 

MRS.  WATSON 

Almost  impatiently      Yes. 

MR.  WATSON 

But  why?  Tell  me.    You  can't  wish  me 

to  follow  with  tight  shut  eyes. 

MRS.  WATSON 

I  Ve  said  all  I  can  say. 

MR.  WATSON 

You  mean  they  're  things  you've  no 

right  to  say  ? 

MRS.  WATSON 

No. 

MR.  WATSON 

Well  then?     Can't  you  explain  them? 

MRS.  WATSON 

No,  John.  They  're  simply  .  .  too  im- 
palpable. 

44 


MR.  WATSON 

And  you  wish  me  to  destroy  what  seems 
to  Ralph  the  highest  possibility  in  his 
life,  because  of  impalpable  nothings? 
It 's  preposterous,  Mabel.  Think !  I 
don't  even  know  the  girl's  name. 

MRS.  WATSON 

You  '11  know  it  soon  enough  with  Mar- 
garetta's  dinning  in  your  ears  of  Eliza- 
beth this,  Elizabeth  that,  Elizabeth  the 
other — 

MR.  WATSON 

Elizabeth  ?     A  name  to  suit  even  you,  I 

should  think. 

Who  's  this  ? 

MRS.  WATSON 

That?     Why,  "  Elizabeth." 

MR.  WATSON 

A  wonderful  face,  Mabel. 


Walking  up  and  down 


As  he  turns  away 


Suddenly  stopping  in  front  of 
Elizabeth' s  photograph 


Knocking  outside 


MARGARETTA 

Can  I  come  in? 

Home,  Daddy? 

Dear  old  Daddy!      Darling  Dad! 

MR.  WATSON 

Why,Margaretta!  Howyou've changed! 

MRS.  WATSON 

You  ought  to  be  abed. 

45 


Entering,  left  front,  with  a 
rough  bath-wrap  around  her 

Hugging  him 


MARGARETTA 

To  Mrs.  Watson     With  that  pesky  telephone  raising  Cain 
in  my  very  ears? 

That  reminds  me  of  your  crazy  cipher, 
Dad.     "Pike's.     Idaho,  August  17, '99. 
Delayed   in    transmission.      Columnar. 
Antelope.    Cash.     Cod.    James  Beard." 
What 's  it  mean? 
MR.  WATSON 
How  should  I  know? 

MARGARETTA 
Hugging  him  again     Oh,  you  duck,  you  duck  of  a  Dad  ! 

Leaning  back     But  is  n't  it  foolish ! !    "  Columnar.    An- 
telope. Cash.  Cod.  James  Beard."  And 
this  —  they  just  'phoned  it  over — "Pon- 
der.    Judex.     S.  &  B."     What  do  you 
s'pose it  means?  Eh, old  man?  "Ponder." 
MR.  WATSON 
Just  business,  dear. 
MARGARETTA 

Oh,  you  've  found  her,  have  n't  you!    I 
put  her  there  for  that.     Is  n't  she  beau- 
tiful?    Just  is  n't  she? 
MR.  WATSON 

Haunted      I  CS  .  .  . 

MRS.  WATSON 

John,  ought  not  Margaretta  to  write 

down  these  telegrams  before  she  forgets 

them? 

46 


Taking  up  Elizabeth's  picture 


MARGARETTA 

I  shan't  forget  'em.  "Columnar.  An- 
telope. Cash.  Cod.  James  Beard." 
"Ponder.  Judex.  S.  &  B."  "Colum- 
nar. Antelope.  Cash.  Cod."  "Ponder. 
Judex."  Dad,  what  can  such  truck 
mean? 

MR.  WATSON 

Look  it  up,  and  write  it  out  for  me. 

Elizabeth  what,  Mabel? 

MARGARETTA 

Did  n't  Momps  even  tell  you  her  name? 
Why,  Mommy,  you  evil,  evil-minded 
Mommy ! 

MRS.  WATSON 

I  can  't  remember   everything  when  I 

write,  Margaretta. 

MARGARETTA 

Not  even  Elizabeth's  name? 

"Columnar.     Antelope.     Cash..." 

MR.  WATSON 

Her  name,  Mabel  ? 

MRS.  WATSON 
Her  name?     Wood. 

MR.  WATSON 
What? 

MRS.  WATSON 

Wood,  Elizabeth  Wood. 

47 


Giving  her  the  code-book 
While  she  sets  to  work  near 
the  lamp 

Looking  up 


Suddenly  bending  over  the  book 


MARGARETTA 
Muttering    "  Rioting  recommences  "  ? ! 

MRS.  WATSON 

What 's  that,  Margaretta  ? 

MR.  WATSON 

Wood?    Don't  you  mean  "Woods"? 

MRS.  WATSON 

No,  just  the  singular.  —  Margaretta  .  .  . 

MARGARETTA 

As  she  turns  over  the  leaves     "Wires  CUt"  ? 

MR.  WATSON 

What .  .  .  was  her  mother's  name? 

MRS.  WATSON 

You  know   about   her  mother?      You 

always  know  about  singers,  don't  you ! 

MARGARETTA 

Turning  over  the  leaves    "Mine  *S  afire"  ? ! 

MRS.  WATSON 
Margaretta,  what  is  it? 
MARGARETTA 
"  Miners  .  .  ." 

MR.  WATSON 

Mabel,  tell  me!     Her  mother's  name?! 

MRS.  WATSON 

Why,  John,  what 's  happened  to  you  ? 

MR.  WATSON 
Nothing,  I  hope.     But — 
48 


MARGARETTA 
"  — Miners  seize  dynamite/' 
MRS.  WATSON 
Margaretta!      Read  it. 

MARGARETTA 

Let  me  finish  first,  Momps. 

MR.  WATSON 

Tell  me  her  mother's  name. 

MRS.  WATSON 

Why,  John,  are  you  insane?!  With  a 
fortune  hanging  in  the  balance,  to  insist 
on  bagatelles  ?  —  Margaretta ! 

MARGARETTA  Still  busil 

"Ponder." 

MRS.  WATSON 
Margaretta ! 

MR.  WATSON 
Mabel .  .  . 

MRS.  WATSON  Impatiently 

Her  mother's  name  ?  Yes,  yes.  Let  me 
see.  What  was  her  mother's  name? 
Clara?  Clare? 

MR.  WATSON 
Clare. 

MRS.  WATSON 

Yes,  that's  it,  I   think, —  Clare,  Clare 

Wood. 

Have  n't  you  finished  that  yet,  child? 

49 


MR.  WATSON 
Clare?! 

MARGARETTA 

I'm  afraid  we  're  dished,  Daddy. 
Reading  "  Pike's,  Idaho,  August  17,  '99.  De- 
layed in  transmission.  John  Watson, 
Bar  Harbor,  Maine.  Rioting  recom- 
mences. Wires  cut.  Mines  afire.  Miners 
seize  dynamite.  James  Beard." 

MRS.  WATSON 

It  can't  be  true,  John.     Tell  me  it  is  n't 

true! 

MARGARETTA 

•lown    Cheer  up,  Daddy;    the  worst  is  yet  to 
come. 

MRS.  WATSON 

John,  think.  Surely  something  can  be 
done.  Can't  you  sell,  even  at  a  loss, 
before  this  is  known  ? 

MARGARETTA 

Sell,  Mommy?  —  and  smash  the  little 
stockholders  and  wreck  the  whole  prop- 
erty? 

MRS.  WATSON 

Be  still,  Margaretta.  You  can  't  under- 
stand these  things. 

MARGARETTA 
But,  Mommy — 

50 


MRS.  WATSON 
Be  still. 
MARGARETTA 

Don't  you  want  to  hear  t'other  one? 
Listen,  Dad.  "New  York,  August  1 8th, 
7  P.M.  John  Watson,  Esq.,  Bar  Har- 
bor, Maine.  On  rumors  of  further  riot- 
ing, stock  has  fallen  to  sixteen.  Await 
advices.  S.  &  B." 

MRS.  WATSON  Helplessly 

John!    Think,  think  for  us. 

MR.  WATSON 

Your  pencil,  Margaretta.  Writing 

"Messrs.  Stone  &  Blackwell,  6  Wall  St., 

New  York   City.     Hold   at   any  cost. 

J.  W."     There,  telephone  that  at  once. 

Good  night. 

MRS.  WATSON 

For  the  children's  sake  .  .  . ! 

MARGARETTA 

Poor  dear  Daddy.    Goodnight.     Don't 

you  care,  Daddy.      It  '11  all  come  out  in 

the  wash.  Kissing  him 

Good  night. 

MR.  WATSON 
Quick! 

MARGARETTA 
Good  night. 

5' 


Mr.  JPatson  *ink.\  into  a 
chair,  his  head  between  his 
arms  on  the  table 

Their  eyes  meet 

After  a  long  pause,  standing 


MRS.  WATSON 

And  you  said  a  great  shock  would  change 

her. 

MR.  WATSON 

Mabel,    was    Clare   Wood    the    whole 

name? 

MRS.  WATSON 

Still  harping  on  that?      Does  our  loss 

mean  nothing  to  you? 

MR.  WATSON 

There  are  worse  things  than  loss.    I  can 

retrieve  that. 

MRS.  WATSON 

Worse  things?     What  worse  things? 

MR.  WATSON 

Don't  keep  me  in  suspense.     Was  there 

another  name? 

MRS.  WATSON 

Clare  Wood  ? —  Let  me  see. — Yes,  Clare 

Wood-Mayano.     "  Mile.  Clare  Wood- 

Mayano." 

John!  —  Look  at  me. 

MR.  WATSON 

God !  God!  They  have  n't  deserved  it. 
Even  Clare,  even  I,  never  deserved  such 
punishment.  And  did  n't  we  suffer 
enough — too  much?!  With  her  ten- 


derness  and  beauty  —  it  had  to  be !  it  bad 
to  be !     Yet .  .  the  desolation  .  .  . 

MRS.  WATSON 
What  is  this? 

MR.  WATSON 

And  now  my  child  .  .  .  mine  .  . . 

MRS.  WATSON 

Be  calmer.     Try  to  control  yourself. 

MR.  WATSON 

Ralph  .  .   .  lows  her!  A   long    pause.      Singing   is 

MRS.  WATSON 

And  I  was  talking  of  your  ruin. 

MR.  WATSON 

Is  that  Elizabeth? 

MRS.  WATSON 
Yes,  John. 

MR.  WATSON 

How  like  her  .  .  .  mother's  voice. 

MRS.  WATSON 
Don't  speak  of  her! 

MR.  WATSON  In  broken  tones 

With  her  voice  in  my  ears?  No.  You've 
held  me  still  too  long.  Standing 

Silence  can 't  strangle  sins.  Unless  we 
acknowledge  them,  they  live,  they  pur- 
sue, torture  us :  for  all  our  repentance  they 
punish  us  and  our  children.  —  Mabel, 

53 


He  turns  away 

A  knock 

Knocking  again 

Again  knocking 


After  a  pause 

She  goes  out  by  the  door,  back 
Slow  repeated  knocking.  Mr. 
Watson  goes  unsteadily  to 
left-front,  and  stands  there 
with  his  hand  against  the 
door  as  if  to  hold  it  shut 


Under  his  breath 


Outside,  in  bright  tones 


if  you  had  n't  forbidden  me  to  tell  you 
even  Clare's  name,  you  would  have 
known  that  Elizabeth  .  . . 

MRS.  WATSON 

I  meant  only  the  right. 

MR.  WATSON 

We  all  of  us  meant  the  right. 

MRS.  WATSON 

John,  she  's  knocking.    Shall  I  send  her 

away? 

MR.  WATSON 
No. 

MRS.  WATSON 
Shall  I  go,  then? 

MR.  WATSON 
Yes. 


MR.  WATSON 
Elizabeth ! 

ELIZABETH 

Mr.  Watson,  it  's  I,   Elizabeth  Wood. 

May  I  come? 

54 


MR.  WATSON 
No!    No! 

ELIZABETH 

I  shall  if  you  don't  say  no. 

Entering  as  he  opens  the  door, 
and  speaking  furtively 

I  thought,  I  thought  Mrs.  Watson  would 
he  here.  But  I  've  introduced  myself 
already,  have  n't  I,  through  a  two-inch 
plank?!  Won't  you  shake  hands  with 
me? 

MR.  WATSON 

I  'm  glad,  Elizabeth,  that  you  're  here. 

ELIZABETH 

Then  you  won't  think  me  too  wild  — 
for  coming,  I  mean  ?  Ralph  was  to  tell 
all  about  me  first;  but  when  I  saw  him  With  a  slight  gesture 
pacing  up  and  down  the  garden,  think- 
ing, thinking,  thinking  —  how  to  put  it, 
I  suppose —  I  decided  perhaps  you  'd 
better 

just  see  for  yourself. 

Why,  how  worn  you  look !  It 's  selfish 
of  me,  is  n't  it,  to  keep  you  talking  now 
when  you  need  to  rest. 

MR.  WATSON 
That  is  n't  it. 

ELIZABETH 

Has  Mrs.  Watson  been  frightening  you, 

55 


Looking  up  at 


Seeing  his  pain 

A  fause 

Her  band  on  his  arm 

He  moves  away 


Giving  him  her  hand 


then?  Though  she  is  so  darling,  I  know 
she  can't  quite  approve  of  me.  She 
thinks  I  'm  weak.  And  there  she 's 
wise,  bitterly. 

You  must  help  me,  you  who  've  always 
been  so  strong. 

MR.  WATSON 
I? 

ELIZABETH 

Why,  yes. 

Mr.  Watson, 

if  I  've  hurt  you,  it 's  unknowingly. 

You'll  believe  that,  won't  you? 

MR.  WATSON 
Yes  ... 

ELIZABETH 

But  I  have  hurt  you? 

MR.  WATSON 
No;  not  you. 

ELIZABETH 

And  still  you  wish  to  be  alone? 

MR.  WATSON 
It 's  better  so. 

ELIZABETH 

Good  night,  Mr.  Watson. 

MR.  WATSON 

Elizabeth,  first,  may  I  have — a  kiss? 


ELIZABETH 

Why,  yes!  yes! 

Your  eyes  now  seem  almost  like  Ralph's 

for  tenderness.  the  forehead 

MR.  WATSON 

Yours  take  me  back.  .  A  silence 


RALPH 

Father!    Why,  Elizabeth,  ahead  of  me? 

ELIZABETH 

Yes;  and  I  think  I  've  won  him. 

RALPH 

If  not,  it  's  a  miracle. 

You  have  fallen  in  love  with   her?  at 

first  sight?  yourself?    Candidly,  have  n't 

you 


Entering,  with  decision 


To  Mr.  Watson 


Grasping  his  hand 


Why,  I  forgot  I  had  n't  seen  you  !  How 
are  you?  Brown;  but  rather  worn  by 
the  strike?  Well,  with  rest  and  this 
happiness  — ! 

MR.  WATSON 
Happiness  ? 

RALPH 

Is  n't  she  already  almost  what  you  called 
my  mother  once? — you  remember?  — 
"Your  lily  from  Paradise"? 

57 


Overlooking   his   impression 


ELIZABETH 

I  begin  to  think  not,  Ralph. 

MR.  WATSON 

m°re  t0  me' 


To  Elizabeth 
Steeling  'himself  And  Xet  '  -  '  and  S°  — 

ELIZABETH 

"So"? 

RALPH 

VJhj,  father! 

MR.  WATSON 

—  so   I   can't  —  I   would  if  I  had  the 

strength  —  I  can't  talk  with  you  now. 

ELIZABETH 

Offering  her  hand   G°°d  night>   Mr«   WatSOn. 

MR.  WATSON 

Taking  her  hand   TlT  not  tO  Judge  me  harshly. 

ELIZABETH 

I  can't  understand  you.   But  I  know  you 

would  n't  give  me  pain  unless  .  .  .  unless  .  .  . 

Turning  toward  the  door   Good  night. 

MR.  WATSON 

Good  night,  Elizabeth. 

ELIZABETH 

To  Ralph,  who  follows  her  No,  Ralph,  Stay! 

She  goes  out,  left-front 

RALPH 
Turning  as  the  door  shuts  How    can   you  let  worldlincss   weigh 

58 


against  such  gentleness  ?  How  could  you 
let  her  go?! 

MR.  WATSON  jfte 

I  have  been  talking  with  your  mother — 

RALPH 

My  mother? 

MR.  WATSON 

Yes. 

RALPH 

My  decision  's  made. 

MR.  WATSON 

Very  well,  Ralph.  But  before  you  .  . . 
carry  it  out,  I  must  tell  you  certain  things. 
First,  my  affairs  just  now  are  in  a  crit- 
ical state. 

I  've  received  telegrams  this  evening 
which  mean  that  we  must  live  very  care- 
fully for  a  while.  The  rioting  has  be- 
gun again;  the  mines  are  on  fire. 

RALPH 

I  'm  sorry,  sir. 

MR.  WATSON 

I  might  have  sold  out,  Ralph ;  but  the 

loss  would  have  been  ruinous.     As  it  is, 

we  shall  recover  in  the  end. 

RALPH 

And  meantime  you  think  that  I  can't 

support  my  wife? 

59 


Indicating  the  papers  on  the 
table 


Wincing  at  the  "sir* 


He  stops  to  study  Ralph's  jc> 


MR.  WATSON 

Not  that  you  can't.      But  the  scientific 

work  you  care  for  ... 

RALPH 

Is  unremunerative.     Yes,  I  know. 

MR.  WATSON 

Have  you  a  right  to  sacrifice  it? 

RALPH 
I  think  so. 

MR.  WATSON 

After  pacing  across  the  room    Very  well.  There 's  another  thing  which 
I  hoped  to  put  off.  —    Sit  down,  please. 

RALPH 

I  —  we  both — need  our  night's  sleep,  I 

think. 

MR.  WATSON 

Try  not  to  be  so  hard. 

RALPH 

I?     To  you?! 

MR.  WATSON 

I  know  I  seem  hard.     Ralph,  I  need  to 

be  near  you. 

RALPH 

If  only  we  could  be  friends  again !     If 
you  only  would  make  it  possible !     But 
I  can't  understand  you. 
60 


MR.  WATSON 

Sit  down;  listen. 

You  shall  understand  me. 

RALPH 

Anything  you  can  say  will  only  separate 
us  more. 
MR.  WATSON 

Perhaps,  and  yet  you  must  know. 
Ralph,  when  I  first  knew  your  mother 
—  or  thought  that  I  knew  her — I  drifted 
into  what  seemed  deep  friendship  with 
the  wife  of — well,  no  matter  about  his 
name.  Her  tenderness  and  mystery 
brought  me  joy  that  grew  into  passion. 
It  seemed  to  lift  me  above  the  real  world. 
But  the  storm  came.  It  brought  us  ... 
to  the  earth. 

RALPH 

You  left  her? 

MR.  WATSON 

I  tried,  with  all  my  power,  to  make  her 
let  me  claim  her  before  the  world.    She 
had  nothing  but  scorn — justly — for  the 
"illusion"  that  had  made  me  too  weak 
to  protect  her  against  herself. 
I  have  n't  seen  her  since.      She  hid  her- 
self away. 
RALPH 
Ah,  now  I  know! 

61 


Seating  himself  also  as  Ralph 
obeys 


Controlling  himself 


A  pause  during  which  Ralph 
glances  toward  the  portrait  of 
his  mother,  then  back  at  Mr. 
Watson 


A  pause 


Getting  up  suddenly 


Mr.  Watson  stands  to  receive 
the  blows 


Striding  forward 


MR.  WATSON 

Are  you  sure  you  understand  ? 

RALPH 

I  understand  and  despise  you. 

Not  for  your  sin — I  could  forgive  you 

that — but  for  your  trying  to  stifle  love 

with  tales  of  your  "illusion" — trying  to 

turn  me  to  some  .  .  .  richer  woman,  as 

you  turned  ...  to  my  mother. 

MR.  WATSON 
Ralph,  listen  — 

RALPH 
No. 

Love  can't  be  turned;   can't  be  smoth- 
ered.   Its  fire  and  light  are  so  unquench- 
able, yet  keen,  that  I  can  see  all  your 
pettiness  as  distinctly  now  as 
that — that  —  that! 

MR.  WATSON 
It  blinds  you. 

RALPH 

It  has  opened  my  blind  eyes. 

MR.  WATSON 
But— 

RALPH 
Going  to  Mr.  Watson's  side    ]sjo    it  can>t  t>e  the  icy  communion  that 

I  see  you  plead  for !    Call  it  mystic  if  you 
62 


Pushing    pens    and 
across  the  table 


pencils 


will,  her  love  and  mine ;   but  it 's  rich 
with  the  blood  of  life.      It  must  be  ful- 
filled. 
Do  you  understand  me  now  ? 

MR.  WATSON 
Stop. 

RALPH 
Let  me  go! 

JVlR  \VATSON 

Your  love,  Ralph,  is  impossible. 

RALPH 

I  shall  marry  her — within  twelve  hours. 

MR.  WATSON 
Ralph  - 

RALPH 
Let  me  go! 

MR.  WATSON 

Not  till  you  understand  — 

RALPH 
Let  me  go! 

MR.  WATSON 

I  am  .  .  .  her  father. 

RALPH 

Her  father?     You? 

You,  father? 

Father! 

63 


MR.  WATSON 

I  never  knew  it  till  tonight. 

RALPH 

Unsteadily  seating  himself     We  thought  we  had  scaled  Heaven  .  .  . 
MR.  WATSON 
If  only  I  could  have  known.  .  .  . 

RALPH 

If  it  weren't  for  you — ! 

MR.  WATSON 

Ralph,  there  is  some  comfort ;  you  need 

not  suffer  as  I  have  suffered. 

RALPH 
Getting  up     You ' ve  lived  and  had  your  "  pleasure  " — 

MR.  WATSON 
Not  my  pleasure. 

RALPH 

Yes — and  a  little   pain — and  years  of 

happiness. 

MR.  WATSON 

Don  't  be  ...  quite  merciless! 

RALPH 

You've  lived — and  you  ask  for  mercy? 
Did  you  show  mercy  when  you  left  her 
mother's  sin  to  kill  her?  Did  you  show 
mercy  when  you  gave  life  to  Elizabeth 
. .  .  and  me?  By  the  justice  of  God — if 
there  is  one  — you  deserve  no  mercy.  You 
64 


deserve  all  her  mother's  storms  of  pain; 
and  the  fire — forever — that  burns  in  me 
now;  and,  for  Elizabeth's  sake  .  .  . 

MR.  WATSON 
Forgiveness ! 

RALPH 
Never! 


Thank  God! 


MRS.  WATSON 

Is  it  over?     May  I  come,  John? 

RALPH 

He  's  fainted,  mother. 

You  don't  need  me? 

MRS.  WATSON 

No.      She  '//  need  you  more,  I  think. 


Going 

Hearing  Mr.  Watson  fall 
forward  across  the  table,  he 
turns  back,  strides  to  the  table, 
and  leaning  over  it,  lifts  his 
father's  inert  bead,  looks  into 
his  face,  and  after  letting  the 
head  sink  again,  bends  for- 
ward to  listen  for  the  sound 
of  breathing. 

Catching  sight  of  the  pistol 
under  his  father1  s  right  hand, 
he  takes  it  up  and  unloads  it, 
then  after  listening  to  the 
breathing  a  moment  more, 
strides  to  the  door,  back,  and 
knocks 
Outside 


As  she  comes  in 

Seeing  Mr.  Watson  she  starts 

slightly 


After    a    glance    toward    his 
father,  he  goes  out,  left 


CURTAIN 


ACT  III 


Elizabeth's  room,  papered  with  bine,  winch  is  figured  conventionally  with  flight 
lines  of  white',  matted  floor,  white  woodwork.  Back,  right  find  left,  two  large 
'Japanese  photographs,  colored,  in  ivhite  frames.  In  the  center,  back,  wide  folding 
doors.  Toward  the  back,  left,  a  door;  further  forward,  a  broad  divan',  another 
door  left  front.  'To  the  right,  two  windoius  curtained  with  white  muslin.  Near 
the  center,  a  square  white  table  with  a  vase  of  gentians,  a  few  books  and  a  blue 
vase  lamp  shaded  by  a  Japanese  paper  globe. 

In  front  of  the  table,  Elizabeth  sits  reading.  She  is  dressed  in  a  creamy  dressing- 
wrapper  of  thin  silk,  belted  in  with  a  white  silk  cord.  Putting  down  her  book, 
she  takes  her  watch  from  the  table,  glances  at  it,  puts  it  back,  and  tries  in  vain  to 
go  on  with  her  reading.  There  is  a  knock  at  the  door. 

ELIZABETH  Starting  up 

Ralph ! 

MARGARETTA  Entering  left,  back 

"Ralph"?       At    this    time    of   night? 

Shocking! 

ELIZABETH 

You  at  this  time  of  night  ?     Shocking, 

Margaretta,  shocking,  shocking! 

MARGARETTA 

I've  a  good  reason  .  .  . 

ELIZABETH 

He's    coming  to   tell   me  what    your 
"daddy"  says.  And,  dear,  if  your  "daddy" 

69 


doesn't  just  long  for  this  daughter-in- 
law  .  .  . 

MARGARETTA 
Well,  dear,  what? 

ELIZABETH 
Nothing  much. 

MARGARETTA 
But  what? 

ELIZABETH 

Oh,  just  that  Ralph  and  I  — 

MARGARETTA 

Well?     Ralph  and  you? 

ELIZABETH 

—  at  dawn — 

MARGARETTA 
Reproachfully  Dawn,  dearest  ? 

ELIZABETH 

—  are  going  to  gallop  away  and  .  .  .  get 
married ! 

MARGARETTA 
Instead  of  walking  with  me? 
Elizabeth  no^Oh,  you  cussed,  dearest  darling! 
After  a  long  hugEut,  Elizabeth,  I  saw  Dad  when  he  got 
home. 

ELIZABETH 
So  did  I. 

70 


MARGARETTA 
Really? 
ELIZABETH 
Really. 

MARGARETTA 

But  he  didn't  tell  you  that  we  're  dished, 
did  he? 
ELIZABETH 
Why,  no,  dear. 
MARGARETTA 

Well,  we  are.     Tin  gone  up  the  spout; 
Watsons  dead  broke! 
ELIZABETH 
How? 

MARGARETTA 

"  Columnar.    Antelope.     Cash.     Cod." 
That 's  how.      No,  I  'm   not   off  my 
head.     That 's  cipher.      I  took  it  over 
the  'phone ;  and  it  means,  "  Rioting  re- 
commences.    Wires  cut.     Mine 's  afire. 
Miners     seize     dynamite," — and     the 
stock  's  fallen  to  sixteen. 
ELIZABETH 
Poor  Mr.  Watson  .  .  . ! 
MARGARETTA 

Oh,  it  does  n't  matter  for  him.  He  's  a 
corker  from  Corkerville,  and  he  '11  clam- 
ber up  again  before  Mommy 's  wiped  her 
eyes!  But  you,  you  and  Ralph  — 

71 


ELIZABETH 
Thoughtfully    That 's  why  he  was  so  grave. 

MARGARETTA 

What  can  you  do  ?     That 's  what  I  've 

been  thinking  of  all  these  hours. 

ELIZABETH 

It  can't  touch  us,  dear. 

MARGARETTA 

It  can  .  .  .  put  off  your  gallop. 

ELIZABETH 
Qajly    Ask  Ralph  about  that. 

MARGARETTA 

I  saw  Ralph  an  hour  ago. 

ELIZABETH 
Startled    Where?! 

MARGARETTA 

In  the  garden.  I  was  leaning  out  the 
window,  thinking ;  and  I  saw  him  there 
walking — and  his  head  bowed  down, 
oh,  so  sadly.  I  guess  he  was  scheming 
—  scheming  schemes  to  support  you. 
He  can't  get  the  professorship  now,  you 
see,  that  he  tossed  away  last  spring.  So 
he  '11  have  to  drop  science, and  take  to  an- 
alyzing baking-powders  and  castoria  — 

ELIZABETH 
Margaretta ! 

72 


MARGARETTA 

— and       phosphates      and      soothing- 
syrups  — 

ELIZABETH 
Margaretta ! ! 

MARGARETTA 
— and  fertilizers! 
ELIZABETH 
He  shan't! 

MARGARETTA 

You  've  got  to  live,  dear. 

ELIZABETH 

But  I  can  support  him.  .  .  . 

MARGARETTA 
You?! 

ELIZABETH 

Listen. — Isn't  that  he? 

Go,  dear. 

Go,  go,  go ! 

MARGARETTA 

But  you  '11  walk  with  me  at  sunrise? 

That 's  in  half  an  hour,  you  know. 

ELIZABETH 

Yes,  I  '11  walk  with  you  at  sunrise 

unless  we  've  galloped  away ! 


Ai    (i   door  is  heard  shutting 
outside 

Footsteps  outside 
Pushing  her  along 


Going  ? 


In  the  doonvay,  left,  front 

Margaretta  goes  out 

Listening    to     the     footsteps, 

Elizabeth    stands    motionless 

whispering  as  they  turn  and 

recede 

As  they  come  nearer 


73 


As  they  grow  faint 

Hurrying  hack  to  knock  on 
the  folding  door 
The  folding  doors,  thrown 
open,  show  Ralph's  laboratory 
with  Bunscn  burners,  scales, 
test-tubes,  etc.,  on  shelves  and 
benches,  which  -flank  an  aisle 
leading  to  a  large  French  win- 
dow. Ralph  stands  facing 
Elizabeth  on  the  threshold 

With  attempted  coolness 


Going  toward  the  windows, 
right 


Ah? 

Again  ? 

Ralph  ! !     Why,  Ralph  ! 


RALPH 

I  hoped  .  .  .  perhaps  you  were  dozing. 

ELIZABETH 

Dozing  ? — before  I  'd  seen  you  ?  Hardly, 
dear.  But,  Ralph,  what 's  kept  you  ? 
Thinking  of  ways  to  propitiate  him 
when  we  get  back  ?  For  he  has  forced 
us  to  have  our  ride!  I  can  see  that,  yes, 
clearly,  clearly,  in  this  awful  gravity  of 
yours.  Do  you  know,  dearest,  it  makes 
you  look  like  him? 

RALPH 

Elizabeth,  we  can't  "have  our  ride." 

ELIZABETH 

Can  't  we?    Not  really?    I  'm  sorry  for 

that.      It  would  have  made  the  day  so 

blessed. 

Think: — dawn    with     the     air     shot 

through  and  through  with  sunlight,  and 

74 


the  waves  all  fire,  and  little  flames  leap- 
ing along  their  ripples  as  we  rode  on  to 
the  sand;  then  the  blast  in  our  faces, 
and  the  spray  .  .  . 

Oh  Ralph,  Ralph,  the  grandeur  of  that 's 
too  full  for  us  to  lose.  Don  't  you  think 
we  might  have  it,  even  if  your  father 
does  hug  the  thought  of  me ! 

RALPH 

If  it  could  give  you  happiness  .  .  . 

ELIZABETH 

I  know,  I  know;  if  he  agrees,  the  ad- 
venture's all  gone  from  it !  Well,  there's 
something  sweet,  after  all,  in  sunny  fields 
of  consent.  They  're  flat,  of  course. 
But ...  he  ^/come  round,  chivalrously? 

RALPH 

Dearest,  he  could  n't  change. 

ELIZABETH 

Couldn't? 

Oh,  I  'm  not  so  sure  of  that.      In  fact,  I 

think  he  could. 

RALPH 

But  you  don't  understand  .   .  . 

ELIZABETH 

Yes,  Margaretta  's  told  me. 

RALPH 
Margaretta  ? 

75 


Turning  to  Ralph 


Coming  forward  to  her 


After  an  instant's  thought 


ELIZABETH 

Didn't  you  hear  her  just  as  you  came 
into  the  laboratory  ?  No  ?  Well,  she 
was  here,  and  she  told  me. 

RALPH 

Incredulous    Margaretta  doesn't  know. 

ELIZABETH 

Yes,  she  does  ;  she  saw  him  ;  he  told  her. 

RALPH 

can  still  smile? 


ELIZABETH 

Why,  yes!  Would  you  have  me  cry? 
Mere  millions  don't  matter  to  you  and 
me.  Don't  worry  !  Now  people  can  't 
say  such  critical  things  of  me.  And  it  's 
a  reason  for  my  appearing  at  once.  And 
if  I  succeed  —  and  I  shall  —  why,  you 
needn't  .  .  .  wallow  in  castoria  and  baking- 
powder  and  soothing-syrup  and  things, 
as  that  wretched  Margaretta  's  been  pro- 
posing. I  shall  be  able  to  support  us  in 
luxury  —  unless  there  are  children  .  .  . 

RALPH 
Elizabeth  ! 

ELIZABETH 

Simply   Don't  we  hope  for  them,  dearest?     And 
after  all,  if  I  'm  really  a  "genius,"   one 


season  of  starring  will  support  us  for 
years  and  years. 

RALPH 

If  supporting  us  were  all  ... 

ELIZABETH 

What  else  could  there  be? 

RALPH 

There  is  something  else ;  something  that 
Margaetta  hasn't  told  you:  something 
so  terrible  that  I  scarcely  dare  tell  you. 

ELIZABETH 

Tou  scarcely  dare? 

RALPH 

Because  it 's  ...  unspeakable. 

He  falls  helplessly  silent 

ELIZABETH 

YOU  mean  .  .  .  Her   band   on    bis   shoulder, 

that  you  were  tempted — that  I   must    genth 
forgive  you  for   thoughts  of  deserting 
me? 

RALPH 

I  was  n't  —  thank  God  —  so  cowardly  as 

that!     I  've  been  hunting  all  these  hours 

for  some  way  to  tell  you  gently  .  .  .  Her  band  drops 

what  came  so  horribly  to  me.   I  thought 

I  had  found  it.     But  life  flared  up  again 

and  dazed  me  and  shook  me  so,  when  I 

saw  you  .  .  . 

77 


A  silence 


I 


s  voice  very 


low 


He 


ilent 


ELIZABETH 

Well? 

What  is  it  ?     Tell  me. 

RALPH 
Elizabeth  .  .  . 

ELIZABETH 
I  must  know. 

RALPH 

While  we  live,  what  we  hoped  for  ... 

cannot  be. 

ELIZABETH 
Cannot  ? 

RALPH 
Cannot. 

ELIZABETH 

But  why? 

Ralph,  it  isn't  true.      You're  not  this 

sycophant !       Ton  could  n't  fall  so  from 

the  sky  to  mere  earth.     Why,  the  very 

stars    would    laugh  .  .  .  through    their 

tears  . 


'eating  herself    on   the   arm       And  yet oh,  it  IS  ! 

of  her  chair 

RALPH 
Dearest  — 

ELIZABETH 
Don't  speak. 


RALPH 
Elizabeth. 

ELIZABETH  After  a  short  wait 

Be  still. 

RALPH 

Things  are  tragic  enough  as  they  are. 

Don't    make   them    more    tragic  with 

misunderstanding. 

ELIZABETH 

I  understand. 

No,  don't  protest.      It 's  clear  enough. 

Perhaps  you  thought .  .  .  you  loved  me ; 

but  wiser  heads  have  shown  you  that .  .  . 

I  'm  light,  and  weak  and  unstable.    And 

you  think  it  the  part  of  prudence  — 

Without    noticing    him,    she 
RALPH  walks  toward   the    windows, 

No,  nothing  that  you  think !   Nothing !     right 

Elizabeth! 

Elizabeth — 

ELIZABETH 

Don't  break  into  my  memory.  That 's 
all  I  have  now,  the  memory  ...  of  a 
dream.  But  oh,  why  couldn't  you  have 
been  even  a  little  what  I  thought  you? 
Why  not  have  made  that  beauty  just  a 
little  yours?  Even  now,  if  you  only 
could  turn  .  .  .  But  you  prefer  the  life 
that  you've  chosen  —  weighing  your 

79 


He     begins    feeling    in 
waistcoat  pocket 


bis 


Suddenly  taking  out  and  hold- 
ing  before  her  a  small  bottle 

She  takes  it 


Reading  the  label 

Wearily  setting  down  the  bot- 
tle on  the  table 


He  goes  toward  the  door,  back 
left.  She  sinks  into  a  chair, 
her  eyes  fixed  on  him 

T urn  ing 


atoms,  theorizing,  experimenting,  con- 
firming .  .  .  alone. 

RALPH 

Elizabeth,  for  my  sake,  for  your  sake, 
because  I  need  you  helplessly,  let  me 
tell  you,  if  only  I  can  .  .  . 

ELIZABETH 

Oh,  your  care  for  appearances !   the  cal- 
culations that  kept  you  tramping,  tramp- 
ing there,  devising  "explanations" — 
it 's  worse  than  mere  infamy.     I  could 
admire  that.     But  this  .  .  . 

RALPH 

Elizabeth,  look. 

Look,  I  say. 

That  was  what  kept  me,  tempting  and 

tempting  me,  till  thought  for  you  gave 

me  strength  to  conquer  it. 

ELIZABETH 

"Tempting"  you? 

No,  you  wouldn't  have  dared  to  die. — 

Don't   try  to  explain.     Go!      Do  you 

understand  ?     Go,  unless  you  wish  me  to 

despise  you  even  more  ! 

Ralph! 

RALPH 

If  I  go,  we  shan't  meet  again;  and  you 
80 


will  never  understand.  It 's  better  so, 
perhaps .  .  . 

ELIZABETH 
Ralph. 

RALPH 

Elizabeth  .  .  . 

it  might  be  easier  for  you  to  think  I  had 

never  been  the  man  you  cared  for.    And 

so,  if  I  could  bear  it,  I  should  leave  you; 

we  shouldn't  meet  again. 

ELIZABETH 
Isn't  it  best  so? 

RALPH 

No !  What  we  knew,  as  we  sat  beside 
those  waves  under  the  stars,  is  too  true 
for  that.  And  there  's  still  too  much 
tragic  wonder  in  the  years  that  we  must 
live.  Trust  me  .  .  . 

ELIZABETH 

Ton? 

RALPH 

/  have  not  sinned.  I  've  blundered  and 
confused  you;  but  I  haven't  sinned. 
I  'm  stronger,  truer  than  I  ever  was. 
Our  suffering  comes  from  others'  guilt. 
Though  our  happiness  is  dead, 
Elizabeth,  our  love  must  live,  like  the 
sun's  fire, 

81 


He    opens    the    door, 
hands  grow  rigid 
Almost  inaudibly 


Her 


Shutting  the  door  and  turning 
Coming  forward 


With  sorrowful  tenderness 


Taking  her  hand 

Kneeling 

His  face  between  her  hands 


Lifting  his  bead 
Standing 

Her  arm  about  him,  her  bead 
against  bis  shoulder,  she 
walks  with  him  towards  the 
laboratory 


Her  voice  jading  in  the  dis- 
tance 

A  long  pause,  during  which, 
while  he  tells  her,  they  are 
seen  starthngly  motionless, 
against  the  French  window, 
through  which  the  dawn  ap- 
pears over  a  near  mountain 

Coming  back  with  him 


and  the  hush  .  .  of  night  .  .  . 

ELIZABETH 

Ralph! 

Your  face  is  gray.     Your  hands  burn. 

Ralph,  Ralph,  your  pain  ! 

Oh,  forgive  me,  forgive  me  for  doubting 

you.     Trust  me.     Let  me  share  what's 

hurting  you. 

RALPH    , 

It 's  too  .  .  .  horrible. 

ELIZABETH 
Let  me  bear  it. 


ELIZABETH 

Our  happiness  on  earth  .  .  .  How  our 
souls  sang  under  the  stars.  They're 
faded  now,  and  that .  .  .  is  dead  ? 

RALPH 

Don't    think  of   our  joy.      We  can 't 

bear  to,  yet. 

ELIZABETH 

Ralph,  it  isn't  dead;   it's  alive  still  in 
my  finding  you  again,  all,  all,  more  than 
I  could  dream  you.     That  joy  in  your 
82 


dear  tenderness,  oh,  let  me  feel  the  thrill 

of  it, 

so  ...  so  ... 

RALPH 

Elizabeth  .  .  .  ! 

ELIZABETH 

Must  you  wake  me? 

RALPH 

This  brings  us  too  near  to  the  gulf  we  've 

escaped  from.      It  isn't  safe! 

ELIZABETH 

Not  while  we  live. 

RALPH 

And  we  must  live.  We  must  not  let 
ourselves  be  crushed.  We  must  turn, 
fight,  hew  out  the  days  .  .  . 

ELIZABETH 

Ralph,  does  the  life  that  holds  us  sepa- 
rate mean  much  to  you  now? 

RALPH 

And  yet  we  must  serve  it  — 

must  put  all  we  've  lost  tensely  into  the 

effort. 

ELIZABETH 

Must  we? 

RALPH 

You  will?  for  our  love's  sake,  for  my 

sake  ? 

83 


As  they  seat  themselves  on  the 
divan,  she  draws  him  to  her 
Their  eyes  meet;  their  lips  meet 

A  long  silence.  He  starts  up 


Looking  up  gently 


Knocking  outside  the  labora- 
tory 


Knocking 
Outside  the  laboratory 

Dazed 
Painfully 

With    the    saddest    smile    of 
consent 


He  strides  off  through  the  lab- 
oratory. A  door  is  heard  to 
open  and  shut.  A  long  silence 

Whispering 

She  walks  back  and  forth, 
looking  toward  the  laboratory 
Passing  the  table  she  sees  the 
bottle,  hesitates,  picks  it  up, 
looks  at  it,  lays  it  down 


ELIZABETH 
I'll  try,  Ralph 

MRS.  WATSON 

May  I  come? — I,  your  mother? 

RALPH 

Shall  I  tell  her  to  come? 

ELIZABETH 
Your  mother  .  .  . 

MRS.  WATSON 
Shall  I  come? 

ELIZABETH 
No  ... 

RALPH 

Shall  I  go  to  her? 

ELIZABETH 

But  don't  stay  long  from  me. 

RALPH 

I'll  come  back  . 


ELIZABETH 

Effort  .  .  to  serve  the  life  that  separates 

us?     Effort?     alone? 

Must  I?     Can  I? 


Ralph! 


84 


I  can't ! 


RALPH 

Elizabeth!      He  wants  to  come  to  you. 

I  told  my  mother  to  send  him. 

Was  I  right?     No?     Shall   I  call  her 

back? 

ELIZABETH 
No,  Ralph  .  .  . 

RALPH 

How  pale  you  are!    I  oughtn't  to  have 

left  you.      You've  been  suffering. 

ELIZABETH 

Yes.     I  was  afraid  to  face  .  .  .  what  you 

will  conquer  .  .  .  alone. 

RALPH 
Not  alone. 

ELIZABETH 

Yes,  you'll  live.      Forgive  me.      I  ... 

wasn't  strong  enough. 

85 


She  picks  it  up  again  and 
seating  herself  on  the  divan, 
sits  long  in  thought 
She  uncorks  the  bottle,  lifts  it 
to  her  lips,  hesitates,  drinks 
Sitting  with  her  thumb  over 
the  mouth  of  it,  she  waits,' 
makes  a  movement  as  if  to 
drink  more;  then  with  short 
little  indrawn  breaths,  falls 
along  the  divan.  After  a 
long  silence  the  door  is  heard 
opening  outside  the  laboratory 


Standing  against  the  light  of 
sunrise  in  the  doorway 


Faintly 
Coming  nearer 

In  pain 


Catching  sight  of  the   bottle 
Reaching  out  for   it 
She  bows  her  head 


Faintly 
Almost  inaudibly 


Sobbing 


Whispering 

Taking  her  hand  he  trembles ; 
suddenly  noticing  her  other 
hand,  he  takes  the  bottle;  bends 
forward,  kissing  her;  then 
standing,  looks  at  the  bottle; 
lets  the  hand  in  which  he 
holds  it  sink;  raises  it  almost  to 
hislipsjdashes  it  to  the  ground 

On  his  knees  beside  the  divan 


RALPH 

You  haven't  .  .  . 
Elizabeth!     No! 

I  '11  get  help  for  you.     Keep  your  cour- 
age up — just  a  moment! 
ELIZABETH 

Don't  leave  me — not  now. 
RALPH 
I  must. 
ELIZABETH 

It's  useless.      I  can't  be  ...  saved. 
Your  hand.      Even  now  you're  veiled 
from  me.     Nearer. 
RALPH 
Elizabeth! 
ELIZABETH 

Tou  must    be  strong,  dear.      Don't  be 
troubled.   Nearer.  So.  Still  nearer.  Kiss 
me.  —  Oh,  must  I  go  ...  alone? 
RALPH 
Elizabeth,  you  haven't  left  me? 


No!  ! 

If  only  I  might  go  with  you.  .  . 
86 


MARGARETTA 

„,.       ,       .    ,  (Jutside,  after  partly  singing 

Elizabeth! 

Have  you  forgotten  our  walk?     Eliza-    - 

beth?  Coming  in 

The  sun's  up;   the   sky's  golden,    the 
waves  are  all  flame !      You  have  n't  gone 
on  your  gallop  ? ! 
Asleep  ? 
Elizabeth  .  .  . 

n    i    i        i        .       •  «  As  Ralph  rises 

Ralph,  she  is  n  t .  .  .  ? 

RALPH 

Gone,  Margaretta. 

MARGARETTA 
Gone? 

MR.  WATSON 

May  I  Come,   Elizabeth?  Coming  through  the  labora- 

Can  you  bear  seeing  me? 

MRS.  WATSON 

Are  you  sure  that  you  can  bear  it? 

RALPH  Suddenly  bearing,  and  strid- 

Father !     Go  back !     Wait !     Not  now !    inz  to 

MR.  WATSON 

Does  she  condemn  me? 

RALPH 

She  is  at  peace  .  .  . 

MR.  WATSON 

You  don't  mean  what  your  face  says ! 

8?    ' 


Rising  and  meeting  him 


Not  that? !     Ralph !     Can  't  you  speak ? 
Let  me  pass,  Ralph ;  let  me  see  her. 

MARGARETTA 

Don't  look  so,  Father.     See,  her  face 

smiles. 

MR.  WATSON 

Though  she  died  for  my  sin? 

MRS.  WATSON 

For  Margaretta's  sake !     John  . . . ! 

RALPH 

Leading  her  aside    Let  him  speak,  Mother. 

MR.  WATSON 

Kneeling  Elizabeth,  forgive  me !  Forgive  me!  I 
never  knew.  Elizabeth  !  — The  cruelty, 
the  cruelty  .  .  .  when  life  seemed  so 
sweet  to  her. 


He  lets  bis  head  jail  on  the 
edge  of  the  divan.  A  pause, 
during  which  Margaretta 
stands  in  pain,  her  hands 
vaguely  lifted  over  her  father's 
head.  He  takes  Elizabeth's 
hand  and  kisses  it 


To  Elizabeth 


Elizabeth  .  .  .  my  child .  .  . 

MARGARETTA 
Father  .  .  . 

MR.  WATSON 
Sweet  little  one  .  .  . 

MARGARETTA 
Father  ! 
88 


MR.  WATSON 
Must  we  still  live  ? 

MARGARETTA 

Yes,  for  her  sake,  we  that  are  left. 


RALPH 

Yes,  we  must  live  . 


we  that  are  left. 


Brnding    down    and     lifting 
him.  to  his  feet 
She    leads   him    out    through 
the   laboratory.      Ralph    and 
Mrs.   Watson    silently  ivatch 
them  pas;.    Then,  while  Mrs. 
Watson  goes  to  the  divan  and 
kneels,    Ralph    sinks     down 
in  Elizabeth's  chair 
In  hoarse,  dead  tones 


CURTAIN 


OF  THIS  EDITION  OF  "  THE  FATHER^  BY  HENRY 

COPLEY   GREENE,    TWO    HUNDRED   AND 

FIFTY  COPIES  HAVE  BEEN  PRINTED 

AT    THE    MONADNOCK    PRESS, 

NELSON,  NEW  HAMPSHIRE 

OCTOBER,   1904. 


MONADNOCK 


A  000  030  001  2 


Greene,  Henry  Copley,  1871  - 

The  father,  a  drama.  Nelson,  N.H.,  Monadnock 
Press,  1905. 

A3 


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CU  catalog: 

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